Mewarmy of Rohan: A Hero's Saga.
Those who are strong don't falter, Through dark and perils don't weaken, All the good of Arda they foster; Through loss and defeat a beacon. - A long forgotten herald. Riding over fields and hills, Evil's darkest minions he kills And piles their bodies in holes deep Then returns home to sleep. But one night he did not come back: In the caves of Gundabad he was trapped! His kingdom soon fell under attack; And was soon severely handicapped. Darkness fell throughout the land From middle Earth Mew was banned Alas... A Light can be rekindled, With Dawn and Hope it brings; The malice of Evil is dwindled, 'Ere the return of the king! -The saga of Mew and his prophecised return after his first disappearance 'Short Description' King Mew, Sword of Rohan, the Bringer of Dawn, Elf-Friend and member of the White Council is a warrior of renown. Once one of the richest men, his armouries stretched through entireties of halls, gleaming with the shine of polished mithril. His kill count was among the highest of all the free peoples, striking fear into the ranks of evil. What was the secret to his success? His wealth brought an undisputed advantage over everyone he faced. He had a wide variety of weapons at his disposal; his walls were lined with bows, spears, swords and shields each enchanted with the blessing of the Valar and the White Council . Mew is a fabled leader, who is trusted and respected by all his subjects and by the majority of the server population. He has led his faction and friends to countless victories over evil, achieving many accolades and has become a feared player and a god of war. Prologue Stepping through the archway revealed an impressive chamber, adorned with trophies, and tapestries of a man who no longer treads on this 'Middle Earth,' but a man who very much helped to shape it. In the centre lay a monuement devoted to this man, perfectly capturing his glory, but also his hardship and sorrow. The plaque read "Here, beneath the ancient city of Calosto lies the body of the Bringer of Dawn." "Father, who was this man?" asked the young lad. "This man was once great, once.." a womon's voice started to weep, "once a hero, a saviour to the free peoples of Middle Earth. Many evils did he halt, but alas one evil availed against him; bringing his life to an end." "You knew this man?" beseeched the father. "Yes I knew him, and was very fond of him. Not a moment goes by without him entering my thoughts, my dreams.. Every second without him, brings me more pain, that I can not for much longer bare." "I'm sorry for your loss." returned the father. "Our loss." she corrected, "For he served us all." "What can you tell me about him?" "I can tell most but not all. Hearken to me, for now I shall recall the stories of a man, who's name has fallen into legend.. into myth. And now it begins, my.. our Hero's Saga." 'A Hero's Saga' Who would've thought that one of the most powerful of the free peoples would wake up in the most unlikely of places... The peaceful Shire, with it's trees full of blossom, graceful streams and friendly people. He awoke with little memory, only a sword on him, "ValaBrandr", the sword of the Valar, and a book, a book that contained the location of his grandfather's dwelling turned tomb. The young adventurer helped out the natives of the Shire, the short and stout, but friendly hobbits. The hobbits valued him greatly, he was a skilled blacksmith, taught by the Blue Dwarves of Ered Nimrais; a skilled hunter and tracker who played a major part introducing cows to the peoples of the Shire; and so were greatly saddened to hear of his departure, to reclaim his grandfather's wealth that was stowed deep into the foggy, Barrow Downs, the resting point of the old kings of Cardolan, and his grandfather's dwelling. Some Hobbits trembled of the thought of Mew leaving the borders of their realm to the dangers beyond, but some.. Some decided to go with him, 30 young Hobbits all in all, armed with only daggers and slings, set off with him on his quest of reclamation. Within a day of travelling they set up base camp, a beautiful campsite in the Old Forest, on a cliff overlooking a river. The Hobbits set off to work, hunting for food in the forest, in groups; ever weary of the trees. Before long the camp, was thriving, the Hobbits feasting while Mew worked out a plan for the dangerous journey ahead. Night fell. Silently spreading a veil of darkness over the now quiet camp. The trees moaned and creaked in the wind. There was a terrible crash, as a tree awoke. Hobbits sprang out of their tents, collecting their arms and forming ranks, as the tree lumbered into the middle of their camp. But alas? Where was Mew? The Hobbits now panicking, worrying for the whereabouts of their friend and their lives. The Hobbits let out a volley with their slings, achieving naught but felling leaves from the branches. The hobbits fell to a retreat, frantically running towards the river that was blocked off by the sheer face of the cliff below. The Hobbits, now treading on the precipice above the torrents of the river below; cowering from the terror before them. The tree was upon them, lifting his arm like branch in preparation for a fell swipe that would knock the hobbits into the torrents of the river below; when tongues of flame consumed the tree and spurred it into madness. Fumes of smoke concealed the camp and hid the source of the racket inside. Minutes passed, the Hobbits, fearfully clutching one another's arms; had no interest in delving into the smoke to inquire. At last there was a terrible sigh; the death of tree or attacker? The Hobbits were trembling with anxiety. Were they safe? Was that terrible being dead? At last, a faint glint of light could be seen through the slowly departing smoke. The glint turned into a sword, the bearer a shadowy figure taking strides towards them. Mew! Of course it was Mew! He had been out on a reconnaissance of the path ahead and had turned back hearing the fell cries of the Huorn, and the panicking Hobbits. He had rushed back, set fire to his foe and buried his sword, ValaBrandr, into the tree trunk and felled his foe. The Hobbits cheered and made themselves merry. Mew decided it was a good idea to better train and arm his followers. From the steaming pile of logs that remained, Mew had pulled out all sticks worthy of being crafted into longbows, and kept the strongest, yet lightest stick for himself. The small party assembled bows, delved deep into caves in search of metals, ever learning the deep and wise craftmanship of their leader, Mew. Each hobbit was armed with a deadly spear, and a sturdy shortbow and steel chestplates and steel chainmail coifs; a far superior armament than their piddly daggers, incompetent slingshots and peasant rags. For days the camp was a sight of rigorous training, hunting and planning. At last they were ready for their expedition to the Barrow Downs. They abandoned their camp and marched through the treacherous woods unopposed. Dusk fell and the party arrived at the edge of the forest. Fear struck the Hobbit's Hearts. The misty Barrows were under the influence of evil. The air was chilled and the birds did not sing here. Mew seemed unaffected by this evil presence and cheered up the hearts of his company, and led them down from the forest into the valleys below. Dark shadows wandered the hilltops. Yes the shadows moved, haunting these lands and guarding it's treasures. The shadows watched, but did not approach. Nay! The shadows were fearful of Mew. A bold, brave warrior leading a troop of Hobbits was a daunting sight indeed. Mew navigated the company through a maze of Barrows until finally coming accross his objective. A tomb adorned with gold, and a shiny silver coloured metal. True-silver! Mithril! The prized possessions of the Dwarven Kingdoms, stronger than steel, yet light to behold. The tomb door read: "Here lies Leofed of the Rohirrim." Mew crept through the door, and became aware of the presence of a spirit. It was not a Barrow-wight, as one would expect, but one of the Valar. The deity spoke only a few words before vanishing: "The answer to all is found, where light is not abound, through dungeons of dark, you'll find your mark, you'll clear your name; else die in Morgoth's Halls of old." Mew trembled at these words, he knew of the place that was spoken. The perilous pits of Utumno. Silently, he bowed before his fathers coffin, then turned to the mounted treasures on the walls. Armours, weapons: all shining with the enchantments of the Valar and forged from mithril. He adorned the most decorated armour, the armour of his forefathers: the once honorable Rohirrim, heirs to the throne, yet doomed to be exiled. Leothed's armour then his father's before him. A valuable heirloom that was used to vanquish many foes. Mew checked over everything in the room, taking note of the inventory there when he stumbled accross a cloak, with golden embroidery of the emblems of Rohan. Mew equipped the luxurious cloak, the silk of which was still soft. With this final action, he left the tomb and locked it. While reciting the words of the Vala in his head, Mew addressed his followers and announced that he was to go on a dangerous expedition, to find answers, and clear his families name. The Hobbits showed no sign of reluctance; their leader had inspired them, trained them and kept them together: they would follow him... To whatever end. 'The Bringer of Dawn.' Mew sat on a rock, staring into the dwindling flames of his campfire. It was now 3 years since he left the Hobbits at their camp to venture on his own. Over this time Mew had seen much; from the Ered Luin in the west, to the Oroccarni in the East, to the Jungles of the south. He stood up ere the break of dawn, and brushed himself down; scattering the crumbs of his evening meal. Wearily, with no joy in his step he mounted his horse and rode down into the Vales of Anduin towards the ancient Eotheod city of Framsburg. Yes people still dwelled here, they endured the constant attacks from the orcs of Gundabad who burnt and pillaged villages and captured livestock. A small host of guardsman could be seen assembled near the great gates of the city. Archers manned the battlements, ready to defy any attacker who tried to challenge their walls. A sheet of black engulfed the sky, blotching out the sun. Crude warhorns were blown; the guardsmen trembled at their sound. Hordes of orcs scrambled down into the valleys before Framsburg, staining the grass with black and brown. A stray child with scruffy hair and scorched garments could be seen; petrified behind a rock, not daring to move. Mew, who had not been idle when he observed this, had crept around to the east of the valley preparing for a wild dash to evacuate this helpless child. He'd have to be quick as the orcs had already sniffed out his scent and were hurrying viciously towards him. His horse leapt over fell logs, ditches and rocks bee-lining it towards the boy. Mew, with his lance at the ready, charged the orcs and sent them scurrying away from the boy. Not wishing to stay after his welcome, Mew hurried the boy onto his horse and sped towards the gate. The watchmen, seeing his peril, opened the gate. The men behind the walls were baffled at its opening: Had allies come to aid them? Had the watchmen given up all hope already and opened the gate for the orcs? They were frightened, yet still stood their ground for they knew orcs would give them no mercy. Yet behold! A man, kingly in stature perched upon a horse, earth brown in colour, rode through the gates, giving the defenders renewed hope. The guards felt inclined to bow to him; a hero they thought, come to aid us in our dire need! Indeed he had. He put the boy on the ground and asked of him his name, "Sindre," he answered then ran off to find his parents. The gate was taking damage; splinters flew off in all directions. With a groan, the gate gave way. A fierce mountain troll leaped into the city; no man stood before him, save Mew. The troll stared down Mew mockingly, then charged him. His horse fled and left Mew staggering on foot. He dropped his lance and drew his sword, 'Valabrandr,' the sword of the Vala. The troll's club came down with a thud, but not before Mew had rolled out of the way behind it. A hoarse cry was heard as Mew's blade penetrated the troll's thick hide and pierced its heart. A flame burnt in Mew's eyes as he stood before the rest of the host, alone. Orcs scrambled around him, and Mew found himself in the middle of a ring of orcs. The tension on their bowstrings released arrows with a twang, but no orc arrow could could challenge his mithril mail. The men of Framsburg weren't a bad bunch and seeing Mew fighting their own battle for them alone was too much for them. They ran back into the fight, cutting straight through the orc's flank and forcing them into a hasty retreat. The screen of war-bats in the skies was torn, great beams of light shone on the battlefield. The orcs fled, climbing over each other in their terror. The battle was over. The defenders had beaten back their besiegers to live another day. A man with ruffled hair, caked in mud, approached Mew with a gleam of a smile on his weary face. "You, my lord, are a hero. My men have already named you 'The Bringer of Dawn,'" the speaker looked to the sky and continued, "It looks like they're right." After a long pause he carried on, "I am Tinty, lord of Framsburg; yet in my heart I know I should leave my post and follow my ancestors to the plains of Calenardhon." "I am Mew, and I am glad that I could be of service to you. But alas, the place you speak of is now known as Rohan in their speech, the home of the horse-lords. It seems your destiny lies with me Sick Star Wars reference :P, for I too must go to Rohan in time not so long from now." "It is settled. I will follow you to Rohan whenever you wish to leave for there." Mew stayed in Framsburg long; learning the culture of the people, and teaching them in the arts of greater crafts. He watched Sindre grow up and started training him at a young age. He was quite the sword fighter, never quite able to beat his mentor; but not far off either. 'The fulfilling of the Prophecy' Mew's face was full of anguish and weariness as he looked back along the path, back into the fells of Angmar. Orc companies were abundant, foul odours followed wherever they stepped. Their presence could only mean one thing: the brewing of war. His horse followed him, stumbling through the treacherous mountain paths towards the icy plains beyond. The plains of Forodwaith spread endlessly into the horizon. The skyline was broken only by weather-worn boulders and the terrible mountains to the east. Yes, this land was uninhabited save for few nomadic tribes who did not fear Morgoth's citadel of old, and could bear the intolerable cold and ever shifting weather of the icy plains. It was for Utumno he was heading, the chilled fortress in the northern wastes of Middle-earth. This fortress housed foul and terrible beings, some once fair, tainted and twisted by Morgoth in mind and body. That was, in truth, how the orcs came into being; elves tortured and corrupted by the will of Morgoth. But as a wise man once said: "There are older and fouler things than orcs in the deep places of the world." The horrors of those beings put anyone off going to these vast, desolate lands. Birds and beasts fled south, towards the little foliage there was in the hills of Angmar and the plains lay lifeless. Leagues upon leagues of land spoilt by weather and deprived of life. Never had Mew felt so lonely than in these plains of the north. Day after day, camp after camp; he strove onwards. On the fifth day he saw it; a fell tower, all alone. Isolated. Mew stood at the gate and listened; distant screams and terrors to his ears. At long last he braved the gate and entered; loosening his sword in his sheath. He stood on a precipace, on one side the gate, two drops of 500 feet or more to his left and front, and stairs to his right. It is no marvel which way he took, the stairs were the safest way to descend into the fortress of terror. Dark was his descent at the start, silent and still all around him. No breeze was present. No light was lit. Yet Mew knew, he was being watched; his hairs stood on end and his hands were clammy with sweat. At last he could bare it no more and drew his sword. The sword shone, lighting the way for him. All who witnessed the unsheathing of his blade trembled, and scurried into the deepest crook or cranny they could find, howling as they went. Their cries echoed down the ever winding staircase and a cascade of noise erupted in the room below. His feet brought him to a vast hall, littered with the debris and remains of a battle once fought. A stench was aroused in the room from the rotten flesh and crumpled bones. Many fair folk had fallen here, yet more who were not so fair; the servants of Morgoth. But even now, creatures, dark and spoilt in stature, stirred in this grave. Flickers of flames danced on the walls, reanimating the shadows. Drums were beaten, and vile creatures issued out orders. The stamping of the march became more apparent. Many feet were closing in on one objective: Mew. He was not alone. Orcs wielding torches entered the room, but shadows still lingered. No light could fade them. A voice spoke, "You were foolish to come here, master edain." "Nay, I have come to reclaim what is duly mine; the crown of Rohan that was lost in these halls by my uncle. You keep this totem don't you?" questioned Mew. A beast wrapped in flame strode into the chamber, embers burnt at his feet, and smoke leaked out of his mouth. On his head lay a crown, wrought of gold and decorated with rubies and saphires crafted into the shape of horse and rider; the crown of Rohan. A fallen meier he once was but corrupted by Morgoth he became fell and evil in guise. "This?" he asked, "this is but a trophy of my most recent victim. Was he dear to you?" "No, he was a cowardly being, who stole the throne from my father, I shall grieve not over his downfall. But now my kingdom is missing a king, men turn upon eachother with their eyes fixed on the throne. Alas, I am the rightful heir to the throne of Rohan, and with that crown I can unite my kingdom. Will you dare withold my birthright?" "You come into my halls, and challenge me? Your demise shall be the most enjoyable." The Balrog snatched a spear from a nearby orc and hurled it at Mew, who swiftly rolled aside and sliced it in two midair. Standing up, he raised his shield and charged. Mew shoved his sword inside the Balrog's chest, who roaring in pain, threw him accross the hall. The orcs erupted in laughter; what could Mew do now with no sword in hand and an empty sheath? A shaft of Light pierced through the ceiling, and a hammer composed of mithril, adorned with designs of the rising sun. Mew dived for the hammer, avoiding the balrogs attack. With the hammer in hand, he leaped upon the balrogs back, and struck the beast's head with the blunt face of the hammer. The orcs turned and fled, screeching as they went. His eyes studied the hammer, there were words inscribed on the hilt that read "Bringer of Dawn." He reached down for the crown which had rolled into the beam of light that had came through the ceiling, and reaching down for it he found he was in another place. He was brought to Meduseld in Rohan, by some foreign power. The crown had found itself upon Mew's brow, men and women of the court bowed. The King had returned at last! 'Battle Brothers (Part 1: Beginning of a Friendship)' A short morning's ride had brought Mew to Minas Tirith. A pleasant journey for the most part, the birds sang warmly and the breeze was smooth on his face. The tales, poetry and song spoke so highly of the White City: the city that had defiantly stood against Mordor's armies for so long. His horse crested the last mound that hid the white city from him, revealling fields of wheat and barley stretching out towards the city walls. There was a large commotion from a clump of trees, cries and the clashing of steel could be heard. Without hesitation Mew spurred his horse onwards, racing towards the source of the pilaver. A warg and rider burst from the trees, zigzagging away from his foe. Mew turned his horse to intercept, and cut off the warg from its only route of escape, drawing his blade as he closed upon their position. Every second brought Mew closer to his quarry, the rider's face was now clearly visible to him showing the rider to be a dark skinned orc of Mordor. Mew's eyes shifted from the rider's face to the jagged edge of the rider's battleaxe. He smiled, an axe is no weapon for a rider. They met, steel upon steel, sword upon axe. With his spare arm, Mew pulled the orc out of his saddle, and threw him to the ground. Picking himself up, the orc turned and fled, straight towards a Gondorian soldier, who with one stroke cleanly removed the orc's head from its neck. "You have skill with a blade, it's a pleasure to make your aquantaince, I am Mew, king....." "Of Rohan," interupted the Gondorian, "no other man could ride so well. My name is Elendil, Prince of Ithilien and heir to the throne of Gondor, and a thorn in the side of Mordor from where this orc hailed. He was riding north, from Harad, and would've made it to Mordor, if he had not been diverted away by my rangers of Ithilien." Elendil dropped his knee, and searched the orc's body, pulling a letter from the corpse. His eyes scoured the paper, and his face went pale, "Mordor and Harad are planning for war, I must tell my King at once, will you come with me?" "Aye, I must speak to Arantoer II myself, please lead the way." replied Mew, who rode alongside Elendil in to Minas Tirith, the capital city of Gondor. Men and woman alike stopped what they doing, turning their eyes towards the two men; one of whom was the familiar face of Elendil, their beloved heir to the throne, but he was not the focus of the attention. Beside him rode the King of Rohan, atop the mightiest of horses, both clad in mithril, with golden intricacies detailing the armour. The Gondorian citizens were accustomed to the mithril relics worn by the venerable Guards of the Fountain, but that did not stop their eyes sparkling with admiration for the wealth and valour of this rider. After passing through every level of the city, they reached a gate, leading to the Palace of Kings were Arantoer II now sat atop his throne. After consultation, King Mew and Arantoer II decided upon pre-emptive strikes against Mordor to weaken their position, and deterre them from war, and Mew and Elendil should be the men to do it. 'Battle Brothers (Part 2: "One does not simply...")' 'The (First) Battle of Mering Stream' The sun shone down over the woods of Mering Stream, birds sung from their lofty branches; cherishing the morning breeze. The proud walls of the fortress-city of Mering Stream stood valiantly along the cliffs, it's banners unfurling in the wind; finely weaved, richly embroided. A symbol of the peak-time of Rohan's glory under the rule of the great King, Mew; The Bringer of Dawn. One of the greatest kings Middle Earth had ever seen. It was rare for any other Kingdom to rival his prowess on the battlefield. He was a legendary commander, who skilfully commanded his men and led them to many victories. But alas, one Kingdom had grown to rival the might of Rohan. Isengard had grown, spreading terror throughout his lands; leaving death and destruction behind, and tales of dread and sorrow ahead. Rohan's army had not yet returned from the wars with Harad in the south and so could not challenge Isengard's force at Helms Deep, Grimslade, Edoras or Aldburg (the chief cities of the realm), and so it was at the King's home of Mering Stream the 2 forces met. The Uruk-Hai of Isengard greatly outnumbered the King's men, but the lack of spears was compensated for by dauntless heroes of Middle Earth. The King of Gondor, King Elendil, who had ridden back from Harad to Mering in haste fought there, as did Bearclaw the Ranger of Ithilien, Sindre of Wold and the King of Rohan himself, Mew. The Uruk-filth surrounded the city of Mering Stream, spreading it's forces thin, but with large concentrations at the gate. At the east gate fought Mew and Sindre, riders of the mark, and at the west gate fought King_Elendil and Bearclaw of Gondor. Horns were sounded and captains shouted out orders, but what could only be described as chaos ensued; men ran from gate to gate on errands, the injured limped over to improvised infirmaries at the King's Hall, and projectiles whistled through the air; sending men and orc alike crawling for cover. The gates creaked and moaned as battering rams were forced unto the gate, emitting a shower of splinters. Through sweat and blood the gates were bolstered, but with little hope of standing against the terrors of Isengard. Men swarmed to the gates, defying the Uruks of passage into the city. The fighting was fierce; Joetatoe (Saruman), had sent forth the full power of Isengard for one sole purpose: to end the world of men. Uruk Captains clothed in the armours of their fallen foes led the attack, spurring on their troops to defile the city and it's defenders. One such captain, Flimmflamm, broke through the east gate and pierced the ranks of Mew's men, seeking out the King. His crazed eyes caught sight of the fair Lord of the Mark, and roared a mighty challenge to the King of Rohan. Brandishing his sword, Mew cleaved his way through the mass of Uruk-Hai who were surging through the gate, with his eyes fixed on the Uruk Captain.The captain bid his troops leave them and the duel began. Now Mew was a mighty man, a marvel to look upon in the swift turmoil of combat; he was fast and skilled with a blade. The Uruk pounced first, with his crude scimitar directed at Mew's chest before it was parried away. Lunge after lunge happened as thus with Flimmflamm directing the pace of the combat. Whether Mew anticipated the next move, it matters not. This Uruk was doomed to die ever since he laid eyes on the King of the Mark. A stray spear landed inbetween the two titans. But alas; Flimmflamm dismissed all caution and lent down to grab the spear. Mew's arm spun, bringing his sword into the air and the forcing it into the back of the Uruk's neck. His limp body sprawled accross Mew's feet with a fell screech. His death brought hope to the defending men, but awoke the lust of blood in the attacking Uruk-Hai. One Uruk EzioDiAuditore, went into a killing frenzy after witnessing the demise of his Captain. His bloodcrazed eyes sought out Mew who was already swarmed by 20 odd Uruks. Ezio leaped into the fray, pushing his fellow Uruks aside to get to his 'victim.' With a few swift strokes of Mew's blade, the Uruk's arms fell to the ground, leaving the Uruk with a startled look on his face before Mew followed by slashing his throat. Foul blood surged out of the wound, and his body slumped to the ground. Meanwhile at the west gate Joetatoe and his guard had broken through and pushed the Gondorians back into the centre of the city. Mew sent Sindre and half of his men to reinforce the Gondorian King. And so Joetatoe found himself alone, with his guard slain all around him. Victory was at hand for the Rohirric coalition with Joetatoe cornered against a wall, his death was imminent. No man, be it Wizard or no, could face off against those kind of odds. And so he was slain by Bearclaw, the Ranger of Ithilien in the centre of Mering Stream. 'TheTurquoiseHawk (Part 1: Aldburg)' The King of Rohan was slumped wearily in the meadhall of Aldburg. It had been a hard few months, there had been many attacks on the city and it seemed that they had now ceased, for the time being anyway. Mug after mug was downed yet drunkeness had not encumbered him. He threw a pouch full of coins to the bartender and left, heading to the walls as he often did before crawling into bed. It was not that he did not trust the eyes of his sentries that stood aloft in the towers, staring into the space before the city all night, but he did never feel safe before assuring himself that no army stood before the gates. Rising onto the battlements, he turned towards the nearest tower and walked, with his eyes gazing outwards from the city. He could hear a drip.. drip above him. He looked up in time for a small drop of blood to splash his brow. Sensing foul play he drew his sword and ascended the ladder to the top of the tower to find the guard lying sprawled accross the floor with dazed eyes pointed to the sky. His neck was sliced clean open, with the blood in a pool around his head. Reaching down, he took the guard's horn to his lips and blew. The clamour in the city below was immense, men clambered over eachother reaching for the armoury, those who came from the meadhall often spurted out vomit as they ran. Addressing the evergrowing mass of soldiers, Mew announced "There's a foe inside our walls! A sentry atop this tower lies dead in a pool of blood!" The soldier fell silent, but their cheeks flushed red in anger. "Search the city!" Mew roared. Officers organised their men and sent them off into the city in search of their quarry, and were soon lost behind the houses of Aldburg. Mew stood alone on the tower and gazed at every direction of the compass. A mass of figures could be seen descending the northern wall and crossing the bridge in flight. Mew glanced over his shoulder, and then leaped down from the battlements and onto the bridge, chasing the intruders. A cry of challenge left Mew's lips as he finally caught up with the host in the middle of the bridge. It did not take him long to identify them as Morgul spawn. Fell olog hais bred in the plains of Gorgoroth, and spiders spawned from the webs of Nan Ungol. The leader of the host was clad in polished mithril, mithril that was once owned by Fireninja of Gondor. His name was TheTurquoiseHawk (pretty intimidating name ngl). A smile spread accross Hawk's face. "Your confidence shall be the end of you, Horse King!" mocked Hawk, "Your friends can't help you here!" "Bah! Who dares wins! (SAS motto tbh)." returned the King as he charged the host. It is always worrying to see a foe so confident on the field, none such as worrying as this. One man, the King of Rohan charged a morgul horde led by a feared assassin, alone. Was it Mew knew something that Hawk did not? Doubt overwhelmed him, and before he had made a decision to flee or stand, Mew was upon him. Hawk was at once aware that his troops were in full flight for the light from Mew's blade, Valabrandr, had that effect on such evil creatures. Hawk's halberd was pulled from his hand's by Mew, and flung towards the gate, and with his foot kicked out at Hawk's back and he toppled over the bridge's pallisade. Mew leaned over the edge, his eyes searching both the river and bank. Of Hawk there was no sign, but his mail was seen to be hurriedly left on the edge of a patch of reeds. The mail and halberd were taken and locked away in the King's mithril horde, and Mew began the hunt of this daring scourge. 'TheTurquoiseHawk (Part 2: Mt Methredras) ' Wails of battle could be heard from the snow capped mountain of Methredras, home to longbeard dwarves. Where trees and foliage once grew, fires adorned the mountainside, illuminating it for all to see and casting vast clouds of smoke, which accumulated above the summit. Mew studied the scene intently from the saddle of his horse, the faces of his guards were equally as grave. With no thought of his own peril, he spurred his horse towards the mountain, his bodyguards racing behind him. The rolling plains turned to rising hills, the road turned to a stony trail decorated with scorched vegetation. The sounds of battle grew louder the putrid smell of sulfur and smoke invaded the Rohirrim's nostrils. They were close. Individual voices could be heard, deep voiced dwarves bellowed out orders, and trolls grunted and roared whilst battering their opposition. The last hill between them was climbed, giving Mew a commanding view of the battle. A horde of trolls were running rampant outside the gates of Mt Methredras, commanded by a familiar figure: TheTurquoiseHawk. 'Quenta Teldestelo' The sun shone crimson, blurring the skies with a smear of red. The air was still. Thick. Humid. Beads of sweat were rolling down Mew's brow as his eyes were held by the morgul lord; who was all clad in garments of bulky steel, and bore a serrated scimitar that gleamed with fresh blood. Malice blinded this fell man's mind, a dark power bound this being to his will. A power deemed older than time itself. Indeed, a dangerous foe for a dangerous man. "How dare thee challenge my will?" spat the Morgul Lord of the east. "Your authority doth not rule over these lands. Begone fiend of Morgoth!" replied Mew. "Haha! You have a stout heart, but a mind that would wish its body be marred beyond recognition. I am like no enemy you have faced before Dawn Bringer. No light can conquer me, no darkness can be compared to me." smirked the fiend of Morgoth. "Nevertheless you shall be felled, else I shall die trying." The smirk was wiped off his face when he noticed the sincerity of Mew's words. Had Morgoth not promised him to be feared by all? He had. Doubt seized him and he blew his horn, and summoned his servants. Many hearkened to this call; trolls, orcs and other nameless beasts who dwelt under the shadow of Mordor. Within seconds Mew found himself encircled by legions of orcs, wolves and fierce trolls bred deep in the fells of Mordor. "No such love exists between you and your men. What if they were to learn that you were not strong enough to challenge me alone? Would they fight for you even still? Or turn to serve the deeper power?" "My force has no love for those blessed by the Vala. I shall give you one mercy; choose wisely." "A fair fight." "Hahaha, KILL HIM!" he allowed his troops to swarm past him towards Mew, and merged himself in the crowd. Hiding from the wise and venerable eyes of Mew. Mew drew his sword, raised his shield, and drove himself ito the midst of his enemies. Orc after orc fell to his wrath. The legions wailed, those that fled were slain by their own. Orc was set upon orc, troll unto warg. At last the Morgul lord showed face, rallying his troops, and advanced towards Mew. A host of thousands and thousands of orc and beast alike assailed our hero. It was not looking hopeful for Mew. The host charged. Mew's blade leaped from neck to neck, cleaving a path through his assailers. Minutes passed as thus, arrows hit Mew but marred him not, the Vala had looked down on him that day. But alas, such a blessing could not prevent his imminent defeat; trolls bred in the hills of Mordor, Olog-Hai beat down and crumpled his body. Thump after thump. His body bled. His breath was resiliant, but faint, and worsening. It looked very bleak for Mew, and would have been fatal had it not been for the intervention of an unforseen creature. A very noble creature, and proud. The trolls leaned up as they heard orcs crying "The Eagles! The Eagles are coming!" An eagle clawed at the faces of the Olog-Hai with his majestic talons, sending it fleeing in fright. Gently, the eagle lifted up Mew's limp body and bore him away; but not outside of Mordor for that was not his fate. The eagle bore him deep into Nurnen, to a city who could heal him, but would also be benefitted by Mew's presence. A fortress whose accomponying city had been destroyed long ago, yet still clung, alone on the hills upon which it was raised, over an age ago. In this city dwelt a charitable, yet hard pressed people. Such was the heart of these people that they gave when they had nothing. Until now no one had helped them, but this was soon to change. The eagle swooped over the battlements, and lowered Mew into the courtyard. Men rushed out of the keep, falling over eachother as their curiousity spurred them faster. A crowd gathered around the eagle and Mew's crippled body. Evidently they had no idea what to do, the crowd talked amongst eachother trying to come to a conclusion when a person of authority parted the mass of people to see the newcomers. He greeted the eagle, and ordered Mew onto a stretcher to be brought to the healing ward, where he would be tended and well cared for. The eagle left after he saw Mew was in good hands, and returned to his eryie leagues away to the northwest. Many days passed before Mew showed any sign of consciousness, and the healers would have long given up if it hadn't have been for the eagle, whom they took for a good omen. For eagles were said to be the messangers of Manwe. On the 15th day, Mew's eyelids parted and he saw the fair faces of his healers, who had spared him from death. He tried moving but was halted by a sudden sharp pain in his side. "Easy there. We're overjoyed to see you awake. Perhaps in due time you could tell us what happened to you, hmm?" spoke the healer. He tried to speak but felt only a fire in his throat, making speech impossible. "Get some rest." .... On the 25th day Mew was fit to walk and speak of his encounters. Everyone stopped what they were doing to listen to all that Mew had to say, for he spoke of legends and tales unheard of in this remote part of Middle Earth. Maidens swooned at the hearing of his brave deeds, the children entertained, and warriors of the house were inspired. After due time he was fully healed, and was brought to the lord of house. His hall was large, and bright in the centre, but shadows clung to the corners of the room, silently sprawling accross the walls. Trophies of war were displayed on the walls, swords, helms and other treasures from the hunt. "Good morn' Mew, may I formally welcome you to my citadel, I am Lord Stelo; I trust my healers have treated you well?" greeted the Lord. "Aye Lord, they have. I am in your debt for this service, if there is anything I can do, you are but to ask." thanked Mew. "We shall see about that later, but may I ask if you needed anything first?" "My sword? It is very dear to me, and is held of higher value than many piles of gold. Of mithril it is wrought, and by the grace of the Vala it is blessed. Is it in your possession?" The lord waved to his servant, who walked into a side-room and came out with a cushion, on top of which was his sword. "Yes we do, and we return it gladly, for many orc necks hath this sword hewn." answered the Lord. "Now we come to disturbing news; Sebrom of Mordor has announced his victory over 'The Bringer of Dawn.' You. The birds tell tales of great grief in the lands of Rohan from which you hail. I.." "By the Vala I will see Sebrom put to death! I shall return to the plains of Rohan with his head held aloft, cleaved from his body, and I shall return no sooner than this deed is done." interrupted Mew. "I am hopeful that you shall succeed, and be it anything you ask, we shall aid you." returned the Lord Stelo. "Indeed, in Teldestelo, the last hope of this part of Arda my fate shall be decided, to prevail or fall." And just like that Mew vowed never to return to his home until he had defeated Sebrom, lord of Mordor. 'The Dimming of the Dawn Bringer' Mew had crossed the border of Rhun, hurdling along the trail that would lead him to his journey's end: the great city which was hidden far within the giant region. As he travelled swiftly across the bleak and rather empty land he felt a feeling which he hadn't known, apprehension and anxiety... the quest in which he set out to complete he was no longer at ease to finish. In his heart he knew his fate, and with a grim face he took it head on. The fabled city of Mistrand lay before the beautiful sea of Rhun, dappled with golden sunshine. Mew stampeded across the bridge which brought him to the great golden gate; it was barred shut from both sides, the intricacy of the markings and beautiful symbols was a wonder even to the eyes of a man who was familiar with beautiful riches and architecture. He closed his eyes and thought about all his journeys; where he had been; the people he had met: such a long life of wonder and beauty. Acknowledging there was no way through this intimidating gate, he started to circle the towering walls of the settlement; searching for some way inside to see the mysterious city for himself. People had spoken highly of the pyramids made of solid gold and dragons living atop them; and there it was! He had seen part of the wall which had a mound of earth near it, he knew his horse could jump quite exceptionally but... he wasn't so sure it could jump such a distance. But Mewarmy was not one to back away from a challenge, he rode his valiant steed into place, and looked straight to the wall which had beckoned his courage and skill. Without a second thought he commanded his horse to charge at full speed, he rode quicker and quicker.. swifter and swifter, until he pulled up on the horses reigns signalling him to jump, it seemed as if he would make it, but just as they were about to touch the wall, an arrow came screaming into his mounts eye, the once trusty stallion dropped and Mewarmy quickly jumped off the saddle grappling onto the wall with all his might. His head peeked over the walls which had nearly defeated him and now before him stood a truly grand sight. Mistrand... the place only some people would dream of seeing, he quickly reminded himself of the archer which had cut the life of his beloved friend short, raising his shield Mewarmy ran forth, bashing the archer off the very walls he was meant to defend. The stairs posed no challenge and soon the grandest pyramid was not ten footsteps away. Hurrying he rushed inside, the head of a dragon faced him, but Mewarmy was no fool; it was simply a sculpture made from bone. Now his gaze fixed upon stairs that may prove a challenge; they seemed unending, shooting to the top of the pyramid. He began assailing them, ferociously climbing the beautifully carved steps. His eyes finally met the glowing sun, he stepped atop the grand pyramid of Mistrand in peace before he heard a voice. "I cannot tell if you are a fool or brave for stepping foot here of all places" The mysterious voice hissed spitefully, Mewarmy turned to face Joetatoe the great Khan of Rhun. "I care not for your threats, has the one they call Sebrom passed through here?" Mew retorted with haste. "And I care not for your questions, you glorified murderer..." Joetatoe mocked with anger while drawing his sword, Mewarmy quickly drew and their blades clashed atop the great pyramid of Mistrand, sword blow after sword blow, each fighter riposted and attempted a chamber but neither could get the better of each other, they were evenly matched, but Joetatoe had a trick up his devious sleeve, he closed shut his offhand and quickly reopened it facing the palm of his hand towards Mewarmy. A fierce bolt of fire shot towards the Bringer of Dawns eyes. Dazed he felt a sharp blade plunging into his heart, and then the same blade was pulled out before he was kicked off the pyramid and was sent hurling towards the streets of Mistrand. As he fell Mewarmy closed his eyes and once again remembered his journey and time within Middle Earth, he smiled and was at true peace, before he hit the ground his body disintegrated into pure light, the last light Middle Earth would know before darkness consumed it. 'Dusk' The trees moaned in grief, the birds huddled up close to the trunk, hiding their heads in their feathers; rabits dived down in to their burrows, hiding. Hiding from the evils in this world that no force now living can quench. Hours shortened, and the hearts of men did shrink. The sun shone for the last time, before disappearing for good behind the hills. Dusk. Dusk is upon the world of men, and nothing, nothing can make it right. As the news spread across evil of The Dawn Bringer's death the cheering was heard across Middle Earth, all evil beings celebrated the death of such a feared warrior, all but one, Sebrom Lord of Mordor before facing Mew had seen no real challenge, the land had become bleak again and so he returned back to his home... The Gladden Fields, as the deep red sun set across the far horizon a bright star outshone the dazzling moon, seeing this star Sebrom knew Mew would be remembered and would be reborn. As dusk began, Sebrom could only hope for another who can once again bring the dawn with him, because when the scale of balance tips... chaos ensues. '"There's nothing I can do, A total mewclipse of the heart"' - Sebrom - 19/07/2016 'Notes' *Whilst Vort, Captain_Faramir and King Elendil are considered the same character, Atanvarno is treated as a separate character to conform with other wiki pages. *This RP character is seen as deceased or missing in action due to his untimely banning. Category:Players Category:Men Category:Faction Leaders